FROM MARAKANA TO MARACANÃ: THE ASTONISHING FOOTBALL VOYAGE OF DEJAN PETKOVIC

Nestled
picturesquely amidst the forested hills of Eastern Serbia is the small,
industrialised town of Majdanpek. The region in which it lies – Bor – is known
for its relatively extensive mineral wealth, particularly its rich deposits of
copper, as well as that shiny metal most widely and greedily valued by the
human race; gold. However, despite a long history of mining that saw the
arrival of many aspiring prospectors and a 20th century industrial
boom, it was not until 1972 that the town’s most cherished discovery first saw
the light of day.

That year,
Dejan Petković was born.

It was on
the streets, gardens, and pitches of this isolated – even bucolic – town that
the young Dejan learned his trade. According to the stories, Dejan’s elder
brother Boban frequently refused to allow him to join in the games,
particularly if the older kids were involved. Boban would even physically
restrain Dejan from doing so. In later life, he would recall these experiences
and refer to them as something of a “rite of passage.”

Majdanpek –
though beautifully situated – leaves one with the impression of an austere,
remote place; a far cry from the colourful, animated streets of Rio de Janeiro,
the bustling city in which Dejan would end up playing for the majority of his
footballing career. It is a place that conforms entirely to the Serbian small-town
template; here the main street bisecting the town, there the dawdling old duffer
shuffling by, here the miniscule coffee-shops patronised by the same customers
each day, there the patchy, dusty football pitch. Even Belgrade, hardly a pulsating
metropolis during the Yugoslav-era in which Dejan grew up, must have seemed an
intimidating proposition in comparison with his modest hometown.

So, how is
it then, that a boy from Bor made the journey from the quietness of the Serbian
hills to the shimmering beaches under the stony, inviting arms of Cristo redentor? It sounds an almost
fantastical Odyssey, belonging more in the realm of dreams than reality. Yet, that
is the path through life followed by our man Dejan.

With regard
to the footballing side of things, Dejan’s promise was evident from an early
age, as is the case with most talented footballers. Indeed, it wasn’t
particularly long before the young buck bade farewell to the rolling, green
crests of Bor, and, in his mid-teens, Dejan signed for a team from the south of
Serbia, FK Radnički. The club is based in the regional centre of Niš, a
historic city and the birthplace of Dejan’s father Dobrivoje. He was brought to
the club by Ljubiša Rajković, a former Yugoslavian international defender and,
at the time, a coach at Radnički. To this day, Dejan remains grateful for the impact
Rajković had on his progression.

Petković
enjoyed several successful seasons at Radnički, scoring plenty of goals for the
club’s first team – thirty-four in fifty-three are the official stats – and
winning a plethora of admirers across Yugoslavia. Clearly, bigger things were
to come for Dejan and, in 1992, he made the move that would turn him from a
local hero into a national star. Crvena Zvezda (Red Star) came calling, and
Dejan heeded.

Even at
this point, there was a striking parallel in relation to the career path of
another diminutive Serbian playmaker – namely, Dragan Piksi Stojković. Born in
Niš, Piksi also excelled on the pitch for Radnički before joining up with
Crvena Zvezda, and would go on to achieve international renown with the Crveno-beli, in much the same vein as
Petković, whom many saw as being Stojković’s great successor at the club. Both
Piksi and Petković were part of the production-line of talent churned out by
the ex-Yugoslavia in the 1990s – ironically that country’s most pressing,
disastrous, and ultimately, final, era – and occupied nigh-on identical roles
for their various teams. It is a trick of fate that the two men, although
separated in terms of age, were competing for the same spot in the national
team during this period – a factor that many point to in reference to
Petković’s essentially non-existent international record. Furthermore, the two
men’s club record would continue to be eerily similar as time went by – both
earned Big Time Moves Abroad from Zvezda (Piksi to Marseille, Dejan to Madrid) which
ended in failure, both had year-long, miserable stints in northern Italy, and
both abandoned the European continent for distant pastures, in the process of
which they both became legends in their adopted homes.

For Dejan,
playing for Zvezda was a childhood desire. Representing them on the pitch was
something that he had previously thought would be the peak of his career, the
summit of his ambition as a player and as a man. Little did he know that their
stadium – Stadion Crvena Zvezda, affectionately known as the “Marakana” in
homage to the great beast of Rio – would become such a wonderfully theatrical device
in the Petković story, being the first of two “Maracanã” at which he
would ply his trade. That Dejan would play football at what he now calls the
“Beogradski Marakana” in the colours of the Stella
Rossa, as well as at the Brazilian original, wearing the rubro-negro of Flamengo, is the stuff of
football folklore – a gift to the esoteric and the cultophile, an unlikely and magnificent
story. To add further fuel to the fire of the Petković cult, he also managed to
score in his first game at both stadiums.

It was,
perhaps, at Zvezda that Dejan came-of-age as a footballing playmaker. To call
him a free-kick expert is to undersell him; he was a dead-ball master, a gifted technician whose
ability to strike a ball with precision, combined with his visual perception,
made him one of the most threatening set-piece specialists of his generation.
Over the years, it was this skill that earned him his sporting celebrity; vital
free-kick goals at vital times for clubs – especially in Brazil – won him the
hearts of fans. Aside from that, he was a nippy, jinky dribbler. When at his
feet, the ball seemed attached to his boot – an old cliché, sure, but watch him
in action and see what I mean. Dejan would roll the ball around as he ran, like
a puck at the stick of an ice-hockey player, using the inside of his foot. A
flailing leg here, the ball dragged there, and he was past the defender. In
tight situations, he would emerge from a crowd of players with the ball glued
to his feet – often, his ability to keep the ball so close to his feet whilst
dribbling is reminiscent of players like Nigeria’s Kanu, who also possessed
that rolling, shuffling style, albeit with a far less lithe physicality. His
passing was accurate, concise, and clean, perhaps lacking the vision of some of
his contemporary number 10s, but it was his dribbling that made him the player
he was. It is for that he will be remembered.

Perhaps,
Dejan’s style is best described by one of his former coaches, Nenad Cvetković,
who said of him:

“When
dribbling, he chose the precise moment when to change the direction, the tempo.
It was an impulsive move that changed from a sleepy, quiet stance, into an
explosive cat-like series of moves, which made him uncatchable. He was
extremely fast.”

Dejan
continues to speak highly of Zvezda, amongst whose fans (Delije) he is a
popular, intangible figure. The eyes of many in Belgrade and Serbia see Dejan
as a talent lost to the country. A national team exile that spent most of his
time abroad, he still manages to engender widespread passion and idolisation in
the country of his birth, despite his long absence from its soil. He was not a
member of the club’s golden generation – they of the European Cup and
Intercontinental Cup double – but he still made up part of a decent group of
players which included Ivan Adžić, Darko Kovačević, Goran Đorović, and an
emerging Dejan Stanković. Significantly, many of his team-mates from this era
speak of him as a leader, the prime stimulus on their side tactically,
technically, physically, and psychologically.

The
nineties were, as most are aware, a time of great strife and difficulty for
what was left of Yugoslavia. Sanctions, hyper-inflation, and a growing criminal
element crippled the country. Often, the level of inflation was such that the
value of an employee’s pay-check would fall significantly in the short time
that it took to reach the bank after work. The cost of an egg could triple
within a day. A barter economy took hold, the struggling currency becoming more
and more worthless each day. Many thousands departed, searching for a more
stable life. Dejan, faced with the same problems and mode of existence, took
the decision to be part of the exodus.

In 1995, he
joined Real Madrid.

The move,
unfortunately, was not a success. Dejan was marginalised almost immediately.
After just a month at the club, he was sent out on loan to Sevilla by Madrid’s
manager at the time, Jorge Valdano. Even at relegation-threatened Sevilla, he
could not find a regular spot, although he did amass seven starts for the
Andalusians. Upon returning to Réal, very little would change for the better
for Dejan. Fabio Capello had replaced Valdano, but had no intention of giving
the Serb a shot at the first team. Another loan followed, before an argument
with Capello in the aftermath of a controversial press-conference effectively
ended Petković’s career in the Spanish capital. The relationship between the
two men was completely broken and Dejan, unhappy on the Iberian peninsula,
began looking for another club.

Very few
would have predicted where he ended up.

Salvador,
in the North East of Brazil, is an enigmatic location. A prosperous, laid-back
place, it is a city that is avowedly more African than European in terms of its
approach to life. Its beautiful seafront populated by vividly-coloured houses of the Portuguese colonial era, its
beaches lapped at by the blue-white of the waves that roll in from the
Atlantic, its city-centre given height by its modern office-blocks, the
principal city of Bahia could not contrast more with the soberness of
Majdanpek. Yet this, improbable as it may seem, is the site of Dejan Petković’s
footballing rebirth; the beginning of his Brazilian journey.

Teo Fonseca,
former vice-president of EC Vitória, was the man responsible for bringing
Petković to Salvador. Identifying Dejan as a potential replacement for club
legend Bebeto, the man of the baby-cradling celebration, Fonseca travelled to
Europe in order to convince the Serb to grace Bahian shores. At first, Dejan
was doubtful, but after a bit of persuasion – and more than a bit of lying from
Fonseca, who told Petković that Vitória were Brazilian champions, when in fact
they were merely the holders of the Bahian state championship – he decided to
give Salvador and Vitória a chance. Dejan came to Bahia with the assurance that
he would be allowed to return to Europe if he was unsatisfied at the club.

As it turns
out, Petković made hay. He tore up the league, widely impressing all at the
club and, in two seasons, won two Bahian championships and the North-east Cup.
Back playing every week, Dejan began rattling in the goals, becoming the club’s
best player and one of the hottest commodities in the league.

On a
personal level, Dejan had started to adapt to life in Brazil with the help of
his team-mate Flavio Tanajura, who even went so far as to learn a few words of
Serbian. It was Fonseca, however, who was the prime influence on Dejan during
his time at Vitória. Dejan learned Portuguese, and the two became close; later,
Fonseca would often travel to Rio to watch his younger friend playing for
Flamengo.

Teo is an
extravagant, colourful character; he gives the impression of being a kind,
straight-forward extrovert, and is partial to wearing tight vests decorated loudly
– some would say tackily – with printed images of tiger’s heads. Their
relationship was such that, despite being owed a large portion of his wages,
Dejan was willing to trust Teo that he would be remunerated upon completion of a
potential transfer to Venezia – one million for Vitória, one million for
Petković. That, however, is where the Vitória story ends for the man they
called Rambo. Unable to keep a player of that quality at the club due to
financial problems with their sponsors, Banco Excel, Vitória sold Dejan.

There was,
thus, an initially anti-climactic outcome in relation to a transfer that was
highly unusual and potentially ground-breaking. For a European to move to
Brazil was, and still is, slightly incongruous. Fonseca himself had admitted as
much, saying that Dejan had asked the pertinent question prior to the transfer:
why would a European go to Brazil when it is usually the opposite situation?
Brazilians go to Europe, not the other way round. Today, the scenario remains all
but unchanged.

Dejan’s
move went against the grain, and although he was on the plane back to Europe
after two years at Vitória, he would not be “home” for long. He lasted just six
months paddling the canals of Venice, and would quickly return to Brazil in
order to write another chapter in one of the most endearing and enduring
footballing stories of recent times. Subsequently, Dejan would state that the
only reason he left Brazil was to be close to his family during the NATO
bombing of Yugoslavia, which took place from March to June of 1999.

Whatever
the reason, the transfer that cemented his place in Brazilian football history
took place that very same year. Flamengo, the biggest club in Brazil, brought
him to Rio, thus beginning a love affair between Dejan and the city that lasts
to this day (Petković was later named an honorary citizen of Rio).

The circle
was complete: From Marakana to Maracanã, an astonishing footballing voyage.

At
Flamengo, he wore the number 10 jersey, following in the footsteps of his idol,
Zico. Rechristened “Pet,” due to local difficulty with pronouncing his name, he
became an icon there after two different spells in Rio. In time, Mario Zagalo,
who managed Petković during the 2001 season, said of his playmaking Serbian:

“Pet is one
thing, Flamengo without Pet is quite another. He influences the whole team,
motivates them, empowers them. He provides the balance that the team needs. And,
we all know perfectly well: Pet is Pet!”

Zagalo
should know; Dejan played under him for a year and scored the free-kick that
won Flamengo the 2001 Rio state championship. As the months and years passed,
Pet (pronounced more like “Petch”) became indispensable to the Rubro-Negro. He scored free-kick after
free-kick, even managing to curl in some goals from corner-kicks, which turned
into a trademark for him. He was at the height of his powers, and the fans
loved him, not least as a result of the aforementioned winning goal. He worked
hard, played hard, and was by all accounts Flamengo’s best player during his
first two seasons at the club.

However, O mais querido do Brasil began to
struggle on the pitch and Dejan – as footballers tend to do in that situation –
left for newer pastures. Controversially, he joined Vasco da Gama, Flamengo’s city
rivals. The move would not lead to a dip in his form or a falling of his stock
on the playing field. If anything, Dejan was as outstanding for Vasco as he was
for Mengão. With the club, Dejan won the 2003
Rio state championship, his third and final Rio championship. Aged thirty, he
scored eighteen goals and made eleven assists in 2004, and was officially
acknowledged as the best midfielder in Brazil by winning the Bola de Prata. The fans of his new club
came to appreciate him as much as those at his previous club. He even managed
to fit in a brief spell playing in China.

Again, it
was not long before Pet was on the move once more. The club he chose,
Fluminense, were another Rio team. Flu’s coach, Abel Braga, originally stated
that he didn’t want Pet:

“There’s
space for him at the swimming pool. Plenty of space for him to play tennis, or
swim in the pool.”

Nevertheless,
Dejan pitched up his tent in the Fluzão camp,
despite the mistrust of both the fans and manager. Soon, he was back winning
friends through his on-pitch performances. He scored the club’s 1000th
goal in the Brazilian Championship, and once more made himself the idol of the
fans. One particular season was of note: with Flu in position to challenge for
the Brazilian Championship, Dejan got injured. Sure enough, Flu lost the next
five games in a row, thus ending their title hopes. After all this time, the
Brazilian Championship was the one Brazilian trophy that evaded Dejan. At this
stage, it appeared unlikely he would ever hold it in his hands as a victor.

Having
ingratiated himself into the hearts of another set of fans at Fluminense, Pet
set out on a journeyman’s quest over the following few years, taking in brief spells
at Goiás, Santos, and Atlético Mineiro. His form had dipped as he had aged. By
the time he left Mineiro, the club from Belo Horizonte, Dejan’s horizon was not
looking so beautiful; he was 36, going on 37, and without a club.

Incredibly,
it was that year, 2009, that would turn out to be possibly the most memorable
of his career. Against all probability, he was signed by Flamengo, more than
nine years after he had first joined the team from the Maracanã. Unsurprisingly, there were many who spoke out in the immediate
aftermath of the transfer. He was past it, washed-up, a has-been.

Equally,
there were those amongst the Rubro-Negro who
welcomed him back with open arms. A gigantic Serbian-flag banner was eventually
created in his honour. Despite this, there seemed scant possibility that Dejan
could have any impact whatsoever on the footballing fortunes of the team.

But…

2009 was to
be the crowning glory of Dejan Petković. When he returned to the Flamengo
setup, the team were languishing in 14th place, hopelessly
rudderless. At first, Pet had to be content with a place on the bench. However,
as time went by, he found his way to a starting berth.

Suddenly,
Flamengo started to perform.

They began
to win. Then, they continued winning.

“W” after
“W” appeared beside their name in the results columns. The reason behind this change
in form? Many put it down to the influence of one man: Dejan Petković. Pet was
simply outstanding. Nay, he was inspired, notching up eight goals in the
season, and providing the drive the team needed to move up the table. The
players called him “Dad,” and with Adriano, he formed an efficient partnership,
Pet’s prompting exquisitely complementing the power and thrust of the former
Internazionale striker. Dejan particularly enjoyed combining with the big man,
laying on chance after chance for Adriano.

Gradually,
Flamengo hit the summit. And stayed there.

On the
final day of the season, four teams had a chance of taking the Brasileirão. Inevitably, Pet supplied
the corner from which Flamengo scored the winning goal against Grêmio, after a comeback from 2-1 down. Flamengo were champions, and Dejan
Petković was the man who had done more than anyone to win them the title –
their sixth, and the first since 1992.

It was an
incredible, unexpected return to prominence for Dejan, whose career had seemed
to be over. He passed from the realm of normality to that of legend. He reinforced
his place as part of Rio football legend, as an idol at Flamengo, and as the
darling of their millions of fans. By the time of his retirement in 2011, he had
scored 167 goals in Brazil, won numerous individual awards, and had been
inducted into the Brazilian football hall of fame.

His career
did not follow the typical route. The journey from Majdanpek to the Maracanã, via Madrid, was most definitely the path less travelled. In truth, it
is a story we may not see the like of for quite some time. Dejan was brave
enough to seek success in an environment not normally reserved for players such
as he, and was talented enough to achieve that success. The name of Dejan
Petković may not go down as being one of the greatest of all time, but to fans
of football in Majdanpek, Niš, Belgrade, Salvador, and Rio de Janeiro, he will
remain a hero, to be placed amongst the pantheon of special players to have
graced the pitches of those wildly varied and diverse towns and cities.